Beast of Bishop's Landing, page 1
BEAST OF BISHOP’S LANDING
Amelia Wilde
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
SECRET BEAST
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
HIDDEN BEAUTY
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
FALLEN ROSE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Bonus Content for Beast of Bishop’s Landing
About Midnight Dynasty
About the Author
Copyright
SECRET BEAST
Amelia Wilde
CHAPTER ONE
Haley
The heater in my Toyota Camry blows snowflakes into the air.
I’m not a car person, but I’m pretty sure that’s not supposed to happen. The saving grace of this situation is that I’m almost home from class. Fall semester is over. I’m one semester away from graduating with a degree in literature. And I won’t have to drive to campus tomorrow getting tiny shards of frozen snow in my eyes.
The Camry huffs dutifully down the hill to our house, tucked as it is toward the back of Bishop’s Landing. My headlights land on the front porch with its spinning wind chime that changes colors based on wind direction. The light swings over the patches of chipped siding and the dent in the garage from when my dad backed into the door a few years ago.
I’m home.
Bitter wind cuts through my coat on the run from my car to the front door, shoulder bag banging against my hip. I need a different bag for next semester. One that can balance the weight of my laptop and books. The weight of my entire life right now. Some Constantines would just hire an assistant to solve this problem. We’re not that kind of Constantine. If we were, we might also have skipped town to avoid the soul-crushing dark and cold.
Nothing, nothing, feels better than pulling open the door and stepping into warmth and light. After the frigid outdoors the air feels hot on my face.
My brother, Cash—all the Constantine good looks, none of the Constantine money—comes out of the kitchen with a big, steaming mug in his hands. “You’re letting all the heat out.”
He’s wearing a cable-knit sweater and glower, which is…not like him. I make a show of shutting the door. He’s usually pleasant. Easygoing. “Did something happen?”
When you have an inventor for a father, things happen. Sometimes, those things are whimsical color-changing wind chimes. Other times, they’re chemical fires.
“The house is still standing,” Cash says darkly. “He—”
“Haley, sweetheart, you’re home.” The warm delight in my father’s voice crashes through Cash’s bad mood. My dad appears at the door to his workshop, patting at his hair like he just woke up and discovered the rest of us are here. He hurries across the room, presses a kiss to my cheek. “Look at you. All these heavy things. Let me take your bag.”
“I can get it, Dad.” I don’t stop him from taking the bag. These are the things that matter, in the end. A dad who loves you enough to help you out of your coat. He hangs it up on a hook by the door, a big smile on his face. “The heater in my car is broken, I think. Can you give me a ride back from Hal’s tomorrow?”
“Sure, honey. Sure.” His grin isn’t proportional to my broken heater. He’s happy, the kind of happy that only comes from an engineering breakthrough. “Did Cash tell you the good news?”
I throw a look at my brother, who scowls back at me over his mug. My dad doesn’t seem to notice. “What’s the good news?”
Dad’s entire face brightens, throwing out several more megawatts of excitement. “You know I’ve been working on my energy project. A long time now, Hales. I’ve found an investor.”
“Daddy, that’s amazing.” I throw my arms around him because screw Cash’s bad mood. This is our dad, and he’s happy. Even so. Worry pricks at the back of my mind. Even the less-rich Constantines know that you can’t trust everyone who walks around with a checkbook. Even my absent-minded professor of a father knows that. Right? “Who is it? Is it official?”
“It’s a Morelli.” Cash has never sounded so flatly pissed.
My father’s face falls and my heart drops with it. I turn my back on my brother, pulse pounding. “Dad, you know you can’t work with the Morellis.” The heat in the house closes in, but I’m glad for it. If we lost this heat, if we lost this house, I don’t know what we’d do. “The Morellis are evil people. And more importantly, they hate Constantines.”
Determination powers on in my dad’s eyes. “They understand the vision, Haley. That’s what matters. He understands what I’m trying to do.”
“We can’t, Daddy.” I hate the way my voice rises to match the dull panic at the pit of my gut. “They could be trying to hurt you. I know how much the world needs your invention, but this is dangerous.” My mind sputters to a halt, fried by a day of making nuanced arguments about literature and trying to tie up the semester’s loose ends, and now my dad’s terrible, reckless idea. “You can’t do this.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” My father takes my face in his hands. “Everything will work out. I’ll see you both after my meeting. Back in time for dinner.”
“Eat with us before you go.” I catch him by the sleeve. “We can talk about your pitch.”
He winks at me. “I’ve already got it perfect, thanks to you. If I don’t go now, I’ll be late.”
His coat is already going on over his shirt and tie and dress pants that haven’t been ironed. My dad takes his keys from their hook with a flourish. I have the childish desire to tackle him somehow, to put my arms around his waist and keep him here, but I’m five foot two. That’s not going to work. He’s a grown man. A grown man with the power to ruin us.
He opens the door, letting in a gust of icy wind, and goes out with a dapper wave.
My shoulders sag. My soul sags. And I round on Cash. “Why did you let him meet with a Morelli? You were here all day.”
“Don’t come after me, Hales. I tried to warn him.” Cash presses his lips into a thin, frustrated line. “He won’t hear anything about it. I don’t even think Petra could have convinced him.”
Our oldest sister, Petra, would have had the best shot. She’s reasonable. And patient. Now she lives with her husband and stays up late organizing charity events. She isn’t home anymore, and neither was I. That’s how this happened.
Guilt makes my throat ache. Guilt and worry. “I’m sorry. You couldn’t have stopped him. I know that. What do we do now?”
“No idea.” Cash watches me cross the room and fall onto the couch beside him. “I didn’t know the phone calls were any different.”
On a normal day, my dad’s voice floats up from the workshop for hours. Making connections, he calls it. He starts every call by saying, this is Phillip Constantine, and I want to change the world. He’s a well-meaning engineer who tries so hard it kills me. The relief I felt at completing another semester is gone, replaced by dread. “Did he say which Morelli he was meeting?”
“No. He just raved about the guy. Apparently he’s found the only honorable, whip-smart Morelli on the planet. Focused.” Cash mimics Dad’s voice. “He’s focused.”
“Focused on hating us.” That’s what the Morellis do. They hate ou r family. They poke and prod and insult our family. There is no earthly way that a Morelli genuinely wants to help my dad get his invention into people’s hands across the world. They’re more likely to steal it, or starve it of money. Either way, the work would die with them. My dad’s dream would die.
Cash doesn’t say anything to that. How am I supposed to cook now? How am I supposed to root through the fridge and put something on the stove and chat with Cash while he sets the table? We’d both have to pretend our dad isn’t taking the biggest risk of his life. I can’t do it.
My stomach clenches.
Living the way we do is already a risk. In general, our family doesn’t tolerate outliers, like our cousin Elaine. Behind the shimmering facade of the Constantine lifestyle there are sharp edges underneath. The claws come out if you step out of line, and my dad has been out of line for years. Our house is too small. It’s not in a prestigious area of Bishop’s Landing. We don’t have maintenance staff. No maids, no gardeners. When we were younger, my dad’s brother would argue with him about it in cultured Constantine tones that cut to the quick.
I heard the things he said. Disgrace. Embarrassment. Barely a Constantine.
All because we don’t care about flashy things and real estate.
What would they do if they found out he’s aligned himself with a Morelli? I rub my palms over my jeans. It’s too soon to get lost in anxiety about our family’s reaction to this Morelli investor. This possible investor. This is only the first meeting, I hope, and my dad wouldn’t sign anything without talking it through first. I’m sure he wouldn’t.
A knock sounds at the door. I leap up from the couch to answer it. Oh, sweet relief. “He changed his mind,” I tell Cash. “You have to help me this time. Convince him to stay. If we can get him to stay for dinner—”
The rest of the sentence dies an early death.
“Hello, Haley.” Caroline Constantine is a vision in winter white, her blonde hair pulled back into a flawless chignon and her cheeks a delicate pink from the cold. My aunt doesn’t belong on our porch in her snow-colored Prada coat. It’s the kind of coat you wear when you’re going to be driven from place to place, not tromping through slush. Caroline’s black town car waits behind mine in the driveway, the engine idling.
“Please, come in.” I’m a beat too late, and the corners of Caroline’s mouth turn down. Not enough that she’s actually frowning. Just enough that I know these aren’t the Constantine graces she expects. Her eyes flick over the overflowing bookshelves in the living room and Cash’s scattered homework on the table. I shut the door behind her. “Would you like something to drink? Hot tea?”
“Aunt Caroline.” Cash rises from his seat and comes over to us. He kisses Caroline’s cheek, and she softens at his charm. She’s always liked Cash the best of my siblings. I think he reminds her of her sons. “What brings you to the house?”
“No, thank you, Haley.” Caroline fixes her gaze on Cash. “I thought I’d stop by and see how my brother-in-law is getting along. He hasn’t been present at any of the family gatherings lately.”
Cash and I—and sometimes our sister, Petra—are the ones who represent our tiny branch of the family at Caroline’s parties. My dad can’t be bothered to go. What’s the point of being seen at a party when you could be working on your next world-changing invention?
“He’s been hard at work lately,” Cash supplies, an indulgent smile on his face. “You know how he is. He’s going to change the world with his innovations in wind energy.”
“So he’ll be working on it now, then.” Caroline pulls off one of her white gloves, then the other, and tucks them both into her purse. “I’ll go speak with him in his workshop.”
“He’s not down there.” I’m too quick with it, too desperate, and Caroline notices. She raises her eyebrows and I rearrange my expression into something sheepish and apologetic. “The heater in my car broke.”
She narrows her eyes. “Isn’t your car the one parked in front of mine?” There’s tacit disapproval in her question. It’s not seemly to keep your car parked in the driveway like a poor person who doesn’t have room in their garage. It’s not seemly to have a ten-year-old car with a broken heater, either. Constantines drive Bentleys and Porches, not Toyota Camrys.
“He went to speak to our mechanic.” Cash laughs a little, as if meeting with a mechanic is one of Dad’s many lovable quirks. As if he ever meets with mechanics. “See if it was something he could fix here at home. You know he loves tinkering with engines.”
I hold my breath and pray that Caroline Constantine doesn’t know that most mechanics in the area close at five, and it’s too late for my dad to have gone there. I send up a secondary prayer that she hasn’t found out through her extensive network about Dad talking to a Morelli in the first place.
Caroline has the power to make anyone’s life difficult in Bishop’s Landing, and since her husband died—my dad’s brother—she’s been twice as stringent about keeping the family image polished. That’s what this is: a visit to keep us in line. Not a friendly chat.
She’s a beautiful woman, but not entirely real. It’s like she’s been carved out of ice. “You’re graduating in the spring, isn’t that right, Haley?”
“Yes, I am. My degree will be in English literature. There are tons of opportunities that—”
“You’ll need to make a name for yourself.” Caroline looks me in the eye. God, I wish I was in some kind of Constantine armor and not skinny jeans with a tunic top that’s cute and convenient for walking from class to class. I look like the opposite of a Constantine princess. The opposite of what Caroline wants. “You’ll be representing our family, and it is crucial that we maintain our reputation.”
“Oh, of course.” I put on a smile that she doesn’t exactly return. “I’m hoping to get a position somewhere in the city, and then in a few years—”
“You’ll run it by me first. Approved companies only. Approved positions only.” Her tone softens. “I only want the best for you.”
“Thank you.” Wanting the best, coming from her, is a threat. My voice is rising again and I struggle to bring it back down. “That will be so helpful.”
“We can all be helpful to each other, I think.” Caroline looks me in the eye, then Cash, then takes a step back so she can survey us both. “The two of you are adults. It’s time you impressed upon your father that he is a member of this family, and members of this family do their part.”
“We’ll talk to him, won’t we, Hales?” Cash winks at me, and I latch on to that wink like a lifeline. My dad doesn’t care about money. He doesn’t care about prestige. He cares about changing the world with his inventions.
Caroline could stop him from doing all that. A few well-placed words from her, and no investor in the country will work with him. I underestimated her. I underestimated how much it would matter if my dad wanted to spend his time working instead of socializing at the Constantine compound. I can’t let her crush him. Not the man who read to me every night before I fell asleep. The man who let me stand on a workbench next to him while he sketched out his latest invention. The man who hung my coat up for me not even an hour ago.
“We’ll talk to him tonight.” I put on my biggest, bravest smile. It’s directly proportional to my terror. I can’t let my father sign that deal. Whatever happens. “As soon as he gets home. Did you want to wait for him, Aunt Caroline, or—”
“No.” She tugs one elegant glove up to her wrist, then the other. “I have things to attend to this evening.” She leans across and kisses my cheek, then steps in to do the same for Cash. “Behave yourselves, you two. And give your father my best.”
CHAPTER TWO
Haley
Dad’s not home for dinner.
I put off cooking, hoping he’ll walk in the door with a bag of takeout.
“You have to stop going in there,” Cash calls from the living room to where I’m standing in the kitchen, staring into the sink like it’ll give me a plan for putting food on the table when anything could be happening to our father. “He’s not going to magically appear.”
I pace back out to the living room and check the driveway for signs of an approaching car. Nothing. “We have to do something.”
“There’s nothing to do.” Cash rubs both hands over his hair and sags back against the couch, neck cushioned by tensed arms. “Not until he comes home. Unless you want to attack the Morelli family. If we start a war, maybe no one will wonder what Dad was doing.”
